


Dine with me before the falling night (Or: Menu of the night—apple, meat, bread, wine, cock.)

by mssdare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Feeding, Growing Old Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8479585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: It’s been ages since the last time. It seems like they never have any energy at day’s end. But tonight Merlin can already feel his skin tingling at the tone of Arthur’s voice when he slides onto the pillow, kneeling beside Arthur.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sillygoose my beloved beta - you did such a huge work on this little story! I cannot thank you enough! (And the title you suggested is best!)
> 
> Witten for Tavern Tales theme: feasts, fairs, bonfires.

 

 

“Come here,” Arthur says.

His fringe falls into his eyes as he leans to put away the knife he’s been cutting apples with. His hair is pure gold in the light of the fire, the strands of silver not visible at all.

“There’s still the bed to be turned down for the night,” Merlin protests, turning away from Arthur to pick up discarded clothes from the floor, muttering obscenities about messy tyrants as he does.

“Merlin, come here.” Arthur’s voice has that edge that makes Merlin’s spine straighten up of its own volition. When he sees the pillow on the floor next to Arthur’s chair, he sets the garments down on the nearest stool and walks over.

He goes slowly.

It’s been… Well, it’s been ages since the last time. It seems like they never have any energy at day’s end: not after emissaries have been sent and dignitaries received, not after letters have been read and replies written, not after favours—large and small—have been granted, chores assigned, patrols set. There are days, whole weeks even, when all Merlin can think about from sunrise when he’s waking Arthur up till evening when he’s helping Arthur to undress is the anticipation of their moments together, before they retire for the night. But by then both of them are so exhausted the only thing they desire is sleep: to fall flat on the pillows and close their eyes. ~~~~

But tonight Merlin can already feel his skin tingling at the tone of Arthur’s voice. He makes sure his movements are as fluid as possible when he slides onto the pillow, kneeling beside Arthur. His eyes are downcast, so he can’t tell how pleased Arthur is with his performance.

It’s hard not to let out a low whine when the familiar callused hand caresses his hair.

“You did well today,” Arthur says, not stopping the slow stroking of Merlin’s dark strands. “How you stood up to those young Druids.”

Merlin closes his eyes. He’s attuned only to the feeling of Arthur’s touch, to the sound of his voice. The events of the day—the over-the-top requests of those Druid youths who remember nothing from the days of old—it all fades in the warmth of Arthur’s touch. He basks in that warmth, letting himself believe that he actually did well, just like Arthur says he did. In this moment he is absolved of all his daily missteps and failures, and a quiet calm spreads through his body.

“But,” Arthur continues, and there’s a hint of sternness in his voice, “I haven’t seen you eat this whole day.” The hand in Merlin’s hair stops stroking; fingers tighten on the strands and pull to get Merlin’s attention. “We’ve talked about this, Merlin, have we not?”

Merlin swallows. He wants to nod but Arthur’s grip is too tight. It keeps him in place. “Don’t let this happen again. This is the last time I’ll remind you of it.”

Merlin licks his lips. “Yes, sire.”

“Good.” Arthur’s hand disentangles from Merlin’s hair. Merlin leans towards the absent touch as if he needs it to stay upright.

“Now,” Arthur says. “Open.”

Merlin opens his eyes only to find that this wasn’t what Arthur requested. He’s holding a small piece of apple in front of Merlin’s lips.

Merlin’s been fed by Arthur before, on various occasions, but like this, kneeling beside his king, only a precious few times before. The anticipation sends Merlin’s head spinning.

He parts his lips, letting Arthur slip the apple into his mouth. He shivers a little because it’s so good to be looked after, to be liberated from the simplest of all duties, wholly in Arthur’s care.

The apple is tart and crisp; it’s early autumn and the fruits are fresh. The juice explodes in Merlin’s mouth. Saliva gathers quickly at the sour taste, forcing Merlin to swallow. A morsel of cold meat is served to him next, and Merlin licks the grease off Arthur’s fingers, which linger in his mouth a bit too long, as if waiting to be sucked on. Merlin would love this, but it’s true that he’s famished and he’s enjoying the taste of rich meat followed by bread, still crusty and soft, freshly baked by the cook this morning.

Next comes the cold edge of a golden goblet pressed against Merlin’s lips. It’s watered-down wine, and Arthur permits him a sip, to wash the food away. Then he looks at Merlin with a pleased expression.

“Good,” he says.

Here, in the sanctuary of Arthur’s bedroom, when it’s not a part of a court game, the praise feels way more real, so much that that it brings tears to Merlin’s eyes. His chest swells with the feeling of being approved of and _seen_.

“You may now serve me. Ready me for bed, Merlin.”

“Yes, sire.”

Merlin stays on his knees as he reaches to take off Arthur’s boots. He holds each of Arthur’s bare feet for a moment while he caresses the soft skin and massages the sensitive underside. Arthur observes him intently, allowing them both this pleasure of touch.

When Merlin crawls between Arthur’s parted knees to untangle the laces of Arthur’s breeches, Arthur stays still. But Merlin can see how the sight of him on his knees affects Arthur; it’s in the way his pupils dilate, in the little breath he lets escape, in the way his lips part in anticipation.

Then comes the moment Merlin loves best—being able to take Arthur’s cock in his hand, and then mouth. This is something that only ever Merlin has done for Arthur, a secret pleasure that should be degrading for Merlin, but instead it makes him feel powerful and desired. Arthur’s cock is already hard, and Merlin smiles, because it’s not that often these days that Arthur’s ready before he’s even been touched.

Erect and flushed, Arthur’s cock looks regal. He tastes good too, and Merlin sighs as he licks the drop of seed at the tip of Arthur’s cock. It’s salty and bitter, and Merlin won’t admit it to anyone but this taste always makes him half-crazed for more. He licks the underside of the head, where the little cord is straining against Merlin’s tongue, and then he slides down the shaft until his nose bumps against the golden curls on Arthur’s pelvis. He knows how to breathe, how to relax to take it all in. He hears Arthur’s soft grunt of pleasure at the feel of Merlin swallowing him down.

The fire crackles as it burns bright. Outside, someone’s singing a drunken tune and dogs are barking. And Merlin thinks that this is true happiness—him, warm and comfortable between Arthur’s strong thighs, sliding up and down Arthur’s silky, long shaft while Arthur tugs on his hair. He yearns for Arthur’s grip to tighten even more, to keep him immobile as Arthur’s hips move and he fucks into Merlin’s throat, as deep as possible.

Arthur shudders and floods Merlin’s mouth with warm semen. Merlin swallows it all greedily, licking every last drop as if it was the best course of tonight’s meal. His own cock is so hard in his breeches that he’s sure he’ll go off at the first hint of Arthur’s touch. For now, he remains on his knees while Arthur’s fingers rub slow, absent-minded circles in his hair.

“You’ve done very well, my Merlin,” Arthur says softly. He sits up and leans in to kiss Merlin deeply, no doubt tasting himself on Merlin’s tongue, along with the apple and the meat and the wine.

Arthur’s hand slides down and into Merlin’s breeches, and as the first callus drags over the hyper-sensitive head of Merlin’s cock he does indeed go off, clutching hard at the worn fabric of Arthur’s tunic while his pleasure uncoils and he gasps for air.

“So, so well,” Arthur repeats, whispering this into Merlin’s ear. It’s as if he’s filling Merlin up with pure acceptance, pleasure, and love, just as he filled him up with his seed moments before. And Merlin has never felt more full in his life.

Merlin stays on his knees until they protest; the castle’s stone floor is hard, even through the pillow. Then he stands up with a groan, using Arthur’s thighs as leverage. He wipes himself clean with a wet cloth, chuckling at Arthur’s, “Now you’ll have to carry me to bed, as I can’t move. It’s all your fault, _Mer_ lin.”

“Come on, old man,” he says, giving Arthur a hand.

After they fall into bed together, half-asleep already, Merlin tucks his cold feet in between Arthur’s shins. He scoots even closer until Arthur’s soft beard tickles his neck. But it’s not until Arthur’s hand snakes around his waist to pull him even closer that he exhales with relief and sleeps.

 


End file.
